


Same

by jumpingjaxx13



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Realization, Reflection, Shippy if you Squint, all of the characters except David and Daniel are mentioned, two sides of the same coin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpingjaxx13/pseuds/jumpingjaxx13
Summary: For years, he was left to alternate between the burn of cigarette butts on his arm and the blunt force of a fist against his cheek. There was nothing he could do then but ride the tides of his misery-- but, no. No, he was not miserable. How could he be when he had a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and clothes on his back? There were people who had it much worse. He should be grateful.He should be happy.((A past/reflective fic highlighting the similarities between Daniel and David based on my own interpretation of their pasts.))





	Same

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: There is referenced abuse and implied child death in this (Daniel, hello?). 
> 
> The majority of this fic is meant to be vague and can be read as David, Daniel, or both.

“ _ This is for your own good. You’ll understand later.” _

 

That’s what they told him every time it happened, but the words didn’t make it sting any less. The welts left on his skin still stung with the same hot fury no matter how many empty reassurances poisoned the air. He wasn’t stupid, contrary to the belief of his parents. He knew that he wasn’t wanted. From the moment they stepped into the courtroom to sever their union,  _ he _ had been the hot potato bouncing back and forth. Neither of them wanted to be left with his custody. 

 

In the end, he wished that they had just put him into the system Anything would be better than this. For years, he was left to alternate between the burn of cigarette butts on his arm and the blunt force of a fist against his cheek. There was nothing he could do then but ride the tides of his misery-- but, no. No, he was not miserable. How could he be when he had a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and clothes on his back? There were people who had it much worse. He should be grateful. 

 

He should be  _ happy _ . 

 

After each display of force came a smile, showing just how  _ happy _ he could be with the hand he had been dealt. Joy may have been pain, but sadness and fear were agony. If he didn’t smile at the evils of the world, then he would never smile at all, and that just wouldn’t do. 

 

He was a  _ happy person _ .

 

Time ticked on, and he learned to smile in the face of anyone and anything that tried to push him down-- hell, he even smiled when they succeeded. Bloody noses and scraped knees and wounded egos all became child’s play in a game he’d mastered from birth. No matter what was said or done, he put on his big boy pants and smiled it the fuck away. Life managed like that until  _ that day _ .

 

It was almost funny to think about how a single event could change the course of his life so drastically, but there was no denying it. One moment, he was the kid who people liked to poke around at, and the next, he had a purpose-- a reason for living. A hero that stepped out of the shadows and guided him towards a new life away from the prison of his own making. In an instant, he would do anything for them; say anything for them;  _ become _ everything for them.

 

Nobody understood it. 

 

As he grew, the darkness of his past faded further and further into the darkness, obscured from the outsiders’ view. Nobody remembered the little boy that stood at the back of the room and smiled too wide and couldn’t connect with anyone. He was gone-- dead, even-- buried under layers of his mentor’s grooming. The older he became, the stranger it was that he stuck around a place like  _ that _ , but he couldn’t leave. So what if they didn’t understand? This was his life.

 

For the first time, he could smile and be truly  _ happy _ . 

 

It consumed him, every inch of his being morphing into the perfect little example of what his hero wanted to show off. He bristled with pride, ever unaware of the knife slowly inching its way towards his back. Years ago, he had been nothing; now, he had  _ everything _ . 

 

He was  _ happy _ . 

 

When the time came that his mentor could not nurture him any longer, he knew that it was time to return the favor. He could use all that he had learned to save children in the same way he had been saved. How many others were living as he had, desperate and sad and afraid to be anything but pointlessly  _ happy _ ? Did they know what true emotions felt like, or were they stuck in that same rut his hero had pulled him out of years ago? He could help them.

 

He could make them understand. 

 

So, he took the abuses from the non-believers, searching and praying for that telltale spark that what he had done had made a difference. Insults and attacks hurled his way did nothing to slow him down as he forged his path, leaving children in his wake that still failed to understand; that failed to be _happy_. Couldn’t they see it? If they followed his lead, life could be so much beyond fake smiles and silent obituaries. They could see the world like he did if they _just._ _Listened._

 

But nobody listened. Nobody understood him. They were far too stuck on keeping him down to open their hearts to the world that had saved him, and there was nothing he could do about that other than continue trying-- continue searching for the one breakthrough he so desperately desired.

 

He was a juggernaut met with an unshakeable force, but he pushed on anyways. He pushed and pushed and  _ pushed  _ and  **_pushed_ ** until there was nothing left to push anymore. 

 

As the dust settled, he looked at the cards left in his hand before looking across the glass to the man opposite him. One held the gentle King of Hearts while the other held the Suicide King-- the same card viewed through a different lens. In the end, neither king was truly very  _ happy… _

 

David looked at Daniel, and Daniel looked at David, the glass of a prison of Daniel’s own necessity the only thing separating the two kings. One hand pressed against it and the other followed suit, fingers lining up perfectly with one another. They were one and the same. Wary, watery smiles graced both of their lips, a despairing kind of contentment reigning between them as they simultaneously spoke out.

 

“ _ I understand. _ ”

 

And, in that way, despite how the ashes continued to burn and the blind failed to see, they could both be  _ happy _ .

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that I would try something new with my writing style/structure. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
